


my want petals in spring and blooms all summer

by feralphoenix



Series: the away game [10]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Autistic Frisk, Dom/sub, Don't copy to another site, Explicit Sexual Content, Intersex Frisk, Marathon Sex, Nonverbal Frisk, Other, Petplay, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Spoilers - Undertale Pacifist Route, Subspace, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24511981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: At times, Frisk desperately needs a vacation from their own brain. Tonight Asriel's got the situation covered.
Relationships: Asriel Dreemurr/Frisk, Chara/Asriel Dreemurr/Frisk
Series: the away game [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/584287
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	my want petals in spring and blooms all summer

**Author's Note:**

> _(being crazy isn’t enough_ \- —you are no longer outside of me but inside, touching the [essence](https://soracities.tumblr.com/post/184460262156/) of me.)

Loosely speaking, roleplay is a hobby all three of you share.

There’s some personal differences, of course. Your and Asriel’s more common dom/sub scenes don’t particularly count because there’s no real story or fantasy to them: When you’re actively roleplaying during sex you and he tend to come up with wild, campy, over-the-top scenarios. One of your favorites is probably the one where monsters and humans have formed a ceasefire that depends on the marriage between equally naïve and inexperienced (and horny and curious) youths from either side (i.e. yourselves), and you’ve never met before the wedding ceremony, the night of which you discover your sexual chemistry is serendipitously off the charts (sometimes to an imaginary audience of political powers that be, or even as a ritual part of the ceremony itself, depending on how horny you both are for exhibitionism or what you need to vent).

For Asriel’s part, he likes to make up sprawling space opera or high fantasy scenarios where you’re scouts exploring some new and uninhabited land only to find that some fixture of the flora is an aphrodisiac, and you thoroughly discover (or revisit) your private sex pollen garden for horny escapades.

As for you and Chara, they have a whole subserver of Alphys’ bespoke private chat client that’s filled with your and their text roleplay. Some of this you think hearkens back to their days on century-old social media networks, because they’re _really_ serious about things having a plot and extensive worldbuilding and the internal logic making sense. _Sometimes_ this is a buzzkill because you’ll want to skip forward to the part where the characters fuck but if you actually _say_ “and then they fucked” Chara will get all anal about things staying in-character and _why and how_ they get to the fucking—but then Chara’s also told you a little ashamedly that the more invested they are emotionally the easier it is for them to properly get horny over your fictional proxies. You don’t want to make them feel bad, _and_ their way is more fun to read back over later.

Plus Chara is a lot—like, a _LOT—_ more adventurous over text than they are in meatspace??? There’s a whole bunch of kinky stuff that you and they and Asriel are all _well_ aware would trigger them really badly if you went near it with a 50 foot pole IRL, but when viewed as a way to build the characterization of some OC of theirs Chara finds it intellectually fascinating instead of upsetting.

(“Because it’s not _me,”_ they said to you once when you expressed surprise over stuff you _know_ overlaps with some of their deepest-rooted fears, stuff so kinky even Asriel is hesitant to try it with you for real. “It’s just a story we’re making up, it’s _so_ pretend that it doesn’t have to involve my body at all. I actually brought it up with my therapist once and they said this is a really healthy way to engage with my issues safely, so I won’t lock up or have a breakdown over the thought of someone doing this even totally consensually in real life. Like, I still don’t necessarily want to hear about it if you and Asriel do this in real life,” they added, holding a hand up and half laughing. “I don’t think I’m quite up to that yet.”

_Fair,_ you told them. _Even if you ever DO ask about mine and Asriel’s wacky sexventures someday I’m gonna be checking in with you constantly to make sure you aren’t biting off more than your brain’s ready for yet._

Chara leaned into your shoulder then, smiling, and your whole body had buzzed with happiness at the contact. “Every time you show such care for my boundaries I fall for you all over again.”

The rest of that afternoon had been _very_ delightful. You still glow a little to think back on it.)

Meanwhile, Chara and Asriel are engaged in some sort of silly and complicated erotica-writing game of chicken, which you _think_ still has the objective of whoever wins getting Alphys’ help to submit it someplace as anonymously as possible to see if they can get published. They workshop these pieces together, which you often get to sit in on, and which generally ends in either everyone getting so horny from the subject matter that you all abandon editing in favor of sex, or which is interspersed with quick individual sex acts that get performed as reference material for verisimilitude. It’s quickly becoming your favorite contact sport.

This isn’t… _all_ that roleplay is for you, though. The same way that you do scenes domming Asriel, sometimes you want deep and intensive submissive scenes that extend beyond sex a little bit, just to get a break from your own mind.

It’s just that—things have been going _so_ badly ever since you and Asgore introduced your goal of passports for monsters too early. It _absolutely_ feels like those ancient cartoons where characters try to plug up a leak in a wall with their hands, and every time things look handled three more spring up…

And it’s been awful and _busy_ too, with you running around all over the entirety of North America, in talks with the UN, more often paired with Asgore or Papyrus than with Asriel so you can’t even take comfort in pure physical affection. Your pit stops at home to make sure Chara is okay and maybe sink into their or Asriel’s laps when available have lasted from three days at the longest to twelve _hours_ at the shortest. It’s been a full four months since you’ve had any sort of time off lengthy enough to reliably schedule an appointment with your therapist, which is long enough that even going back at _all_ feels daunting. (How are you going to decompress AND check skills AND reprocess trauma all in one hour? What if you’ve gotten rusty? What if you’ve deteriorated _so_ much in the interim that they’ll be disappointed in you, or tell you that there’s some mistake and your first childhood therapist was right and you really are just one of _those_ borderlines, untreatably toxic, doomed to live as an emotional parasite-cum-ticking time bomb?)

Not even the extra serotonin from your meds can really and truly keep up with all the stress that’s kicking your anxiety into high gear. You’re _going_ to need your friends and family to baby you past fear and back into your routines, and you’re _going_ to need to detach yourself from world news and rest properly these next few weeks. Somehow.

But you’re not going to be able to get _anywhere,_ you probably won’t even be able to get to _sleep,_ if you cannot get your brain to _shut the fuck up._

Which is (ha) where Asriel comes in.

You bend your head forward and close your eyes to let him fasten the collar at the nape of your neck. It’s more of a choker than anything, discreet enough you could theoretically wear it outside, flossy and lacy; the little heart-shaped brass tag hung from the front is blank. But the mere feel of the fabric on your skin makes your pussy swell, your clit stand to attention, slicks your thighs with dewy precome. Wearing the collar means you’re allowed to be utterly _useless_ for everything but sex.

It’s impossible not to revel in that, compared to all your usual responsibilities.

“Okay,” Asriel says, faintly husky; his hands lift away from your back. “The scene’ll start when I come back into the bedroom and will last until… let’s say midnight, that’s six hours, I’ll probably be pretty worn out by then. Same ground rules as usual—if you talk or sign when I’m not specifically checking in with you I’ll take that as safeword, same thing if you take the collar off. I’ll tap in every hour or two to ask for your color, or if you fall asleep I’ll check in when you wake up. The scene pauses if one of us is in the bathroom and ends if someone leaves the room. I’ll safeword if I have to, you know the usual one. Is there anything else you want to add?”

_I just want to get fucked,_ you tell him, already getting hazy. How _aren’t_ you supposed to, naked of everything but the collar while Asriel is already half into the costume of his business attire? _I just want your cock everywhere and your come everywhere and I wanna come until I get all melty._

“Well, gosh,” Asriel says, chuckling a little. “I’ll do my best to drive this train all the way to Ahegao Station, then.” He straightens up and winks, like he has to get the buffoonery out of his system now before the scene formally begins. “Be back soon.”

He strokes your hair just once, a little gesture that sings all through your body in gooseflesh, and steps backwards and sideways out the bedroom door. It shuts behind him with a self-contained _click._

You breathe out, and you allow your body to sink back until you’re puddled atop the mattress, arms all ragdolled out and legs spread. Soon. Soon, soon, soon, he’ll be back _so soon,_ and your whole body aches for it, a pin-sharp open-nerve longing that makes you whine just a little. You don’t try to hold it in because you don’t _have_ to, not anymore. God, you want to be held—held and coddled, and _used,_ all the sweet nothings and tender touches and the relentless battering of Asriel’s oversize cock, all at once. Everything, everything. Your vision blurs, your breath goes ragged, your hips are already rocking, humping the air impatiently. You want, you want, you want.

Another click as the bedroom door opens, and _oh,_ there he is. There’s Asriel, all dressed up in fancy tweed formalwear, the lightest powdering of snow melting on his shoulders and his fur, Prince Charming aura cranked up to maximum. The front of his human-style slacks are bulging with his cock and he pauses to look around the room like he doesn’t know where you’ll be, giving you extra time to stare. Pitiful needy squeaks rise from your chest as precome flows down your ass. Asriel’s ears perk and he swivels, still in the doorway, to look at the bed and at you: He smiles all slow, his eyes softening.

“Should’ve known that’s where I’d find you,” he says with a chuckle. First the door goes shut and locked behind him, and then he’s advancing on you in sweeping strides as he undoes the front of his pants to let his cock spring forth, huge and pink and steaming. “Look what I’ve got all good and ready for you.”

You squirm atop the sheets as he approaches. You don’t even have to fake the whimpering or the desperate rabbiting of your hips into the air: Asriel’s a good actor and sells his role so completely, it’s easy for your mind to relax back into the role of spoiled pet, eager living cocksleeve.

“You’re all ready for me too, aren’t you?” Asriel croons, taking his place at the side of the mattress with one hand at the base of his cock. “I can see I’ve made you wait. How good you are, to be so patient for me.”

He lines himself up and lances into you: One smooth swift movement, no pretense. The force of it rocks through your whole body. Your eyes roll back. All the wanting, wanting, wanting, answered so fully, key into lock, Asriel’s thundering heartbeat suffusing your whole body. Orgasm ravages your body like waves pounding a shore.

“Ah,” Asriel says, voice rich and blissful. “Ah, _god.”_ He rocks his hips a little as the tide quietens, head questing as deep as it can fit. “So many people say they could never be satisfied with a human, that you’re just too small compared to us, they’d rather fuck someone who can take their whole cock or fill them up completely. They don’t _know._ They don’t know how generous you come. I don’t think I could ever get hard to another monster ever again, the way you come as soon as I’m inside you.” The mattress creaks. You look up blearily to see him crouched over you, still fully clothed. “And that’s a secret I’m more than happy to keep. Ah, Frisk. You’re a _treasure.”_

And his hips pound into you: Hard, measured, relentless strokes. They rattle the bedframe, bounce your breasts and your stomach and the soft flesh of your thighs. You try to grip at him, hold him between your walls, but he’s slippery with your come and pounding and twitching. Instead of getting him to come in you he pulls a second aching climax out of you, and then a third. You cannot even keep your eyes open. The tag on your collar is clinking and your hair has fanned out upon the sheets. Aside from your clinging pussy you’re not even moving, but it feels as full-body as rock climbing. Deliciously wrenching, each time you come a flat spot to rest, the spume of Asriel’s come a peak that’s yet out of reach but clear in sight.

“Come as many times as you like,” Asriel says, warm and puffing. “I love to feel the way you squeeze.”

You whine at him, pitched and plaintive, and clench down for all you’re worth. He grunts and his eyes shutter and he thrusts all the way in, hips juddering. Heat floods you, thick and sticky and silky.

“Mmm,” he says. “Mmmm. Mmmmmm. Look at that _smile._ Ohh.”

Your mingled fluids squelch as he leans down to lick and nuzzle your slack face, still coming, breathing low and rhythmic. His thin hot tongue catches your lips while licking drool from your cheek and then you’re coming too, soft and wet and sweet now, pliant giving bodies and mutual satiated smugness.

“Happy now?” Asriel croons into the bend of your neck between licks and nibbles. You hum at him and he chuckles; it echoes through your whole body tenderly every place you touch and burns in your clit. “Good. You’re so good.”

But then he shifts, getting up on his elbows—you can _feel_ his soft cock starting to slip free and so you do something you would ordinarily _never_ allow yourself to do: You clamp down on him as hard as you can and mewl in protest.

Under the role your reasonable mind stirs and flickers with worry: Have you hurt him, are you asking for too much, is he about to shut the whole scene down—but Asriel just leans back in to nuzzle your cheek, making soft soothing noises at you. One of his hands slides across the bed so he can stroke your hair.

“You thought we were done already, didn’t you?” He pauses to kiss your shoulder, the hinge of your jaw, the corner of your eye. “Of course not. Of course not.” His tongue traces the top of your breast, and you shiver. “I still have so much more come to give you. Let’s get you on your side.”

Asriel is careful pushing himself up to his knees so that he stays inside you the whole time, and scooping both hands beneath you to rotate your body onto your right side he’s slower and more careful still. At last—still fully clothed and smiling down at you warmly, he nudges you to fold your left leg and then lifts it up almost to a ninety degree angle, propping it against his belly and loosely holding it there with his right hand.

He shivers, smile widening. “Mmm, _god,_ you’re so tight like this.”

You swallow, reflexive; your toes are curling, your hands kneading weakly at the rumpled sheets. Having your legs held like this forces your pussy to narrow and as Asriel’s cock slowly bulks back up with blood he feels impossible, too big to hold, like he’s permeating your whole body. It’s a deliciously sore and bruisy feeling. Your nipples are so hard and so tight they’re itchy. Already you _know_ you’re going to come the second he moves.

Asriel stays still and waits ‘til he’s so hard and you’re so impatient you’re whining, and then he starts to buck into you all bouncy and shallow and your vision actually literally grays and your ears ring with how hard you come.

Distantly he grunts. His voice still sounds tinny when he says, “Your pussy’s so _perfect_ when you’re full of come.”

He fucks like his only priority is taking his own pleasure of your body, like he’s so utterly confident in your enjoyment he doesn’t have to think about it at all, and you _love_ it. This is what your body is _for_ and all you want is his cock and his come and his hands on you, to be used, to be fucked within an inch of your life, so pampered you don’t even have to ask for it. To have been _chosen_ for this, so Asriel can fuck you any time he wants knowing that all you want is to be fucked.

Asriel’s thrusts are deceptively light, utterly relentless. You come a little and he fucks you all through it so you’re coming again almost right away, hard and then soft and then hard. The sheets are wet under your cheek from your drool and every time you exhale it’s on a thin reedy moan. You’d be happy if this never stopped but the racing thrum of his pulse hammering at your walls has you half mad with excitement for his orgasm. The right side of your lips, the soft of your right thigh, your asshole down the base and cheek of your ass are hot and wet and sticky with Asriel’s come and yours and your precome slopping out together while he pounds you.

He makes a crackly straining noise deep in his chest and his hand clenches on your leg, his body stiffens and arches, and he swells up and _throbs_ in you, grinding and busy and torrenting with numbing force. You’re a cup spilling over, eyes rolling, humping down on his slippery cock until your left hip starts to ache, still coming helplessly all the while.

Mercifully, he brings your legs to rest together as he finishes, still plugged in deep and breathing ragged.

Limp on the mattress, breath heaving and clit still painfully hard, your vision blurry and unfocused and your tongue heavy on your lower lip, you reflect faintly that you’ve already lost count of how many times you’ve come. If you look even half as debauched and disheveled as you feel right now you’re probably an even match for any of Asriel’s catalogue of human creampie pinups.

Above you, he groans, appreciative. “If the world could see you now,” he says, breathless and velvet, “they’d _all_ wanna fuck you. There’d be an endless line all across the country. Across the _ocean._ You’d have all the cock you could ever dream of.

“But I don’t wanna show you to anyone else,” Asriel goes on, smiling above you. “You’re all mine, so it’s _my_ job to take real good care of you, keep you safe and warm and satisfied, fill you up with come. Ever since I brought you home with me I’ve always been serious about that. You’ll never want for anything here, never have to worry, as long as you’re my precious pet.”

You shiver and whine weakly. Asriel’s gotten harder and harder inside you as he speaks, but this isn’t a good position for you to be able to move much. So you flex your lower belly to stroke your walls on his shaft, the best you can do to remind him that every second he’s not pounding into you is a second of hardness wasted.

He moans all throaty and leans in: You expect him to cover you like this and hump into you all sloppy and eager so when he scoops you up in both hands you don’t even know what’s happening for a moment. Then he turns you on his cock and the rim of the head pushes so rough into your walls that you squeal. He sets you down on your front, packed into a fetal curl so you’re balanced on forearms and shins with your pussy out, and he spreads his huge hands to squeeze your ass and flanks and fucks his whole weight into you so it rattles the bed.

It’s wet and sloshy under the caterwauling springs and Asriel’s hoarse gasping. You feel the mindless animal thrusts against your forehead, like his roughness is gently knocking your brain into your skull, only that would probably hurt. You come from the rake of his cock through the furrow of your pussy and your graying vision swims with squiggling sparks, you come from his padded palms working your ass like clay and your whole body from your thighs to your navel throbs with warm shivery delicious aches, and you start to lose track of what you’re coming from. The bedclothes under you are so wet that when the tip of your clit brushes against them it skids.

The _whumm whumm whumm_ of Asriel’s pulse echoing in your pussy walls starts to go _BOOMM BOOMM BOOMM_ and you flex your toes on air, all your muscles spasm and tingle, your drool on your lips feels frothy. You’re coming with your whole body, and he’s howling high and melodious and his come pours into you like thunder to the rhythm of his heart, and this is where your memory gets fuzzy and vague.

When you wake you’re sweat-sticky and slippery-thighed and dizzy from thirst. The lights are on, Asriel’s sitting at the desk scratching at something with a pen, the collar is still around your throat, loose enough not to restrict your breathing but the tag still noticeable against the flesh of your neck.

There’s a thin blanket over you, which you shoulder off as you sit up: On the bedside table there’s a pitcher of water and a glass beside it. You crawl over to it and pick up the pitcher with both shaky hands so you can drink straight from it. Bless Asriel. You have to lower the pitcher eventually to breathe, which lets you peek at the clock—10:30 pm, _damn,_ you napped for a while. At least there’s still _some_ time left for more sex, so Asriel fucking you to sleep (!) before is still a net plus.

You note your bladder’s protesting mildly and sigh. It feels wrong to stand up with the collar on but it’ll be quicker to the bathroom and back if you walk, so. Asriel peeks at you and then returns to whatever he’s doing when he sees where you’re headed.

While you’re sitting on the toilet you take stock. Nothing really _hurts_ per se; the tip of your clit’s a little sensitive from scraping bedclothes and your pussy, thighs, and butt feel a little bit bruised. More in the arena of _deliciously used_ than painful. Even when you’re out of pee (and god, you’re now thirsty _again,_ Chara would be proud) there’s still _plip_ s in the toilet bowl from gobbets of come trailing back out. Your whole body is revving for more sex, like a kid jumping up and down after getting off a favorite ride: _again! again!! again!!!_

You wipe yourself clean and wash your hands but don’t make any real effort to finger more come out; the room’s set up so it’s fine if you make more mess anyway. It gets you hot _and_ it’s extra lubrication for if your own natural wetness can’t keep up—why waste it?

Returning to the bedroom you have to take a pitstop by the pitcher to replenish your fluids again. Asriel will just hold you up insisting on taking care of your body if you try to fling yourself right back into it, after all. But as soon as that’s done you sink back to the floor on hands and knees, retreating back into the spoiled pet persona before reminders of the world outside have any chance to sneak up on you.

Asriel peeks at you again as you approach, but instead of going straight back to his writing this time he asks in a low voice, “What’s your color?”

You sink back onto your legs so you can free up your hands to reply: _Green._

“Good,” he says, smiling, and goes back to writing as if he’s deleted the past ten seconds from his mind.

You sit and observe him for a few moments longer. He’s taken off his suit jacket, but still has the button-down shirt and suit pants on. The situation he’s setting up for you is no less appealing for its obviousness. You slink between the table leg and his shin so as to crouch beneath the table, making sure your flank brushes Asriel’s knee on your way in: He breathes in quick and sharp above you. Your body answers readily, the familiar rush of warmth to your pussy.

It’s darker under here, but there’s still enough low light from the rest of the room and silvering the edges of things from the tabletop lamp that you have a clear enough view of Asriel’s spread legs in front of you, and the bulge between them. You scoot in on your knees and rest your hands on the low rung of the chair, then lean your cheek against his broad thigh, listing the rest of your body softly against his leg. He whimpers. The bulge expands. You lean in so your face is maybe a couple inches from his cock and inhale: Even his clothes still smell faintly of sweat and come, and then there’s the heady scent of fresh precome and musky flesh just underneath. You turn your chin a little and nuzzle Asriel’s cock, slow and gentle, so he makes a choked grunt. He’s warm against your cheek and you wish you could purr.

“Well, look who’s up,” says Asriel, a little short of breath. His upper body leans back so that light spills all down his chest, and you squint a little as your eyes adjust painfully, pushing your cheek into him a little harder. He huffs in response. “And I see you already want some attention. But I’m busy for right now, so do you think you can keep yourself occupied just playing with this for a minute?”

One large furred hand pushes your face back; the other undoes the front of his suit pants and adjusts the gaping Y of their front to sit in the folds of his sheath while his cock springs up all pink and trembling, almost as needy as you.

You lick at him near the base, his skin so hot you feel like you could burn yourself. Asriel grunts. You lick again, little laps and then more firmly, and press your cheek against the side of the shaft, rubbing gently back and forth. Asriel’s body goes taut before you, around you; the chair and desk protest as he gasps. You inch forwards a little more and rest your hands on his thighs, stretching up to lap precome away where it’s started to drip from the slit in the head. Leaning this way and that to lick at different angles ghosts your breasts along the bottom of the shaft, pressing along the ridge there.

“Holy god,” Asriel groans. “Gimme your tits.”

He leans against the back of the chair again and both his hands come down to scoop your breasts up, pressing them together around the base of his cock. He moans all decadent. You wish you could purr again at the warmth of him right up against your chest, his rushing pulse thrumming _thumpthumpthump_ right up against your ribs. The muscles in his thighs bunch and relax over and over again under your hands.

Asriel scrubs your breasts up and down the lower half of his shaft, breath huffing, his claws pushing insistent and itchy on your skin. You nuzzle your cheeks against the head and lick around the rim, careful to keep your eye closed on the side you’re touching him. Your caution proves wise when Asriel lets out a stuttering whimper and comes all over you, spilling sticky all over your face and chest, catching in your hair. He looses his hold on your breasts but doesn’t let them go completely, just cups them while he huffs, half-mast dick listing against your chest so the tip rubs your throat.

He laughs to see what’s probably a very self-satisfied smile on your face: “You,” he says, all loving and indulgent: “You little _troublemaker,_ you’re sure lucky you’re so cute.”

The chair scrapes back and Asriel’s hands slide down to hold your waist instead, hoisting you up against his chest. He shifts to cradle you against him with one arm, and once you’re supported he reaches down below you. Your guess at what he’s doing is confirmed when the tip of his cock pushes against your pussy for a moment, finds the mouth of your vagina, and slides in, sending a blissful shiver all through you. Warmth throbs in your clit and the skin of your nipples puckers, ticklish.

“I bet you want to get pounded, huh?” Asriel croons in a falsetto that’s near baby talk. “I bet you’re hoping you’ll get a real hard dicking, being so naughty. Taking the bait and then some. So thirsty for more cock you can’t let me work in peace.” He rises to his feet, still cradling you, and sways like he’s rocking a child. If your shins weren’t pressed so firmly to his stomach you wouldn’t be able to feel how his lower abs are straining, but the twitching of his cock inside you still gives him away.

“Well, I’ll give you what you want, because I want it too,” he coos to the crown of your head. “But not everything’s going to go just how you’ve planned.”

And he reaches behind you to sweep whatever he was doing to the side of the table, and he lays you down there instead, hands firm on your hips.

Asriel fucks you, but slowly, shivering all over from the effort. The relentless head drags steadily out until the rim fetches up against your lips what feels like whole _minutes_ later, then rakes the furrow it’s made with equal aching slowness. You could _almost_ come from the pressure against the front wall but there’s not quite enough force.

You mewl and squirm while Asriel opens you up again and again, but you don’t struggle with any force. Asriel’s eyes as he gazes down on you are so loving, even his edging bullying seems gentle.

“I love you,” he says, almost conversational but just this side of breathless and strained, “did you know that? My darling pet. The light of my life. It’s so lovely to be so needed. It’s so easy to make you happy, all you ever want is cock, it’s so good to come back from balancing the world on my shoulders like a sort of monster Atlas and be able to make your whole day just by coming inside you. I could never _really_ be angry at you wanting attention, when it’s so easy to make you happy and your pussy feels so _good.”_

All this over the glacial rhythm of his thrusts, a glittering prismatic torture more effective than anything anyone’s ever done to you. Tears drip with sweat into your hair and you fruitlessly wriggle your hips, or try to, held too fast in Asriel’s hands to really hump down onto his cock so you can come. You don’t have the wherewithal to remember the last time you’ve felt as naked as you do right now, limbs akimbo and tongue hanging out, belly and breasts jiggling while Asriel’s cock skewers you over and over again. And there’s no shame in that nakedness. Asriel takes ownership of the person-shaped black hole you are, your endless need, sweeps you up with the sweet fantasy that despite everything you’ll never be _too much._

“You’re so beautiful,” Asriel says, beaming all his tenderness down upon you, his voice a murmur you can barely pick up over the slick sounds of flesh through flesh. His cock _ripples_ inside you, that’s the only word you can think of to describe it, and searing heat floods your whole belly til it bloats. You’re all but crying with desperate frustration and he fucks into you just a little faster, cock still trying to jump despite your pussy holding it fast. It’s only _barely_ enough but it still pushes you over.

This orgasm is the crest of a wave in your pussy but you feel it in the arches of your feet and the sides of your ankles too, it cramps your shoulders and tickles in your breasts. The lack of stimulation on your clit is fucking awful and you want to cry but that’s offset by the deep satiation of Asriel’s come filling you up.

But eventually his hips slow and he pulls out— _no, no, no_ —leaving you limp and useless and craving all splayed across his desk. Your vision swims but you still can’t miss his eyes traveling all over your body.

“Oh, sweetheart, look what a mess I’ve made of you,” he says, good-humored and smug. “Maybe let’s clean you up a little before we play any more.”

And the thing is, Asriel literally actually hoists you up into the crook of his arm like a child or a lapdog and carries you into the bathroom, lays out soaps and shampoos and soft washcloths. The part of your mind that maintains some grasp of your remaining faculties wants to fucking _kill him_ because _why_ is he not _getting you off more right this minute,_ but the rest of you is fully submerged in Frisk-the-pampered-house-pet and would have what Chara terms the “zoomies” from the sheer sugar-rushing joy of the promise of affection were you not debauched boneless.

Asriel runs the faucet and waits for the water to get lukewarm, you cradled to his chest all the while. He’s got the bathtub plug half-closed so there’s a couple inches of water standing when he sets you gently down in the tub. “Close your eyes, love,” he says, and pours water over your head, gently cards come out of your hair with his claws. This he repeats several times, only then working baby shampoo into your hair with the pads on his fingertips; he takes as many dousings to rinse that out as well.

Once he’s washed your hair and gently wiped your face, the DIY salon session shifts towards foreplay: Asriel selects a second washcloth, soaks it, and runs it up and down your arms and back. It sluices drying sweat away but leaves a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. He follows this with liquid body soap, scrubs ticklishly and then wipes away. Again you are of two minds: You want him to stroke and gentle you all over like this forever, but also, it’s not sex.

Heedless, Asriel switches to your front, mopping up what remains of the mess atop and between your breasts. He takes extra time and is extra gentle on your nipples, and you get full-body jitters; you lean against the far side of the tub and spread your legs and give him your best sad doe eyes and whine piteously. Asriel washes your underboobs and then your stomach as if he cannot tell exactly what you mean. Worse, he kneads at your bloated lower belly with his thumbs so warm come pours down your throbbing lips, ignoring your sounds of complaint. He even carefully strokes a washcloth over your pussy to wipe the discharged semen away, yet too gently for you to come—what a _waste._

The mock aftercare (midcare? intercare??) slash edging slash rude bastard torture ends there, though, with Asriel lifting the bathtub plug and shutting the faucet off. He lifts you up into his arms, soaking his shirt, and wraps you up in a dreamy soft towel. He dries your hair with magic and cuddles you, all nuzzles and big fat burly arms rocking you—then he sits back and lets the towel half unspool from around you. He props you on your knees on his thighs, gets his hands firmly around your waist, and then Simba-lifts you so your legs are dangling and your crotch is at the level of his face. He leans in and his pink tongue flashes out and then it’s rolling soft and warm and silky back and forth over your aching cunt and stiff clit. Your eyes roll back and you convulse with pleasure and you come all over his face, crying.

Asriel brings you back down to sit splay-legged in his lap, puffing, face all splotched wet with come. He looks absolutely _smarmy_ and you’d throttle him but your hips are too busy desperately humping the air over his crotch, too overwhelmed to really put effort into grinding. Your entire brain is a mindless chant of _COCK NOW COCK NOW COCK NOW._

“There,” he tells you, grinning. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

And he lifts you back up with him, returning to the bedroom.

Asriel puts you down on your back like a baby and strips out of his wet, come-stained button-down as fast as you’ve ever seen him take off anything. The suit pants follow it into a heap on the floor, but with less elegance; it still doesn’t take away from the majesty of his cock straining in an arced pink pillar of wet flesh out of its sheath. It is hard to take your eyes off this show but you still spare a glance for the bedside table, upon which the clock reads: _11:45 PM._

That’s still enough time, and your body is aflame with something like the runner’s high of lust—you’re, like, _aware_ that you’re just this side of exhausted but you’re too horny and exhilarated to feel it yet. You want to, _need to,_ get off again before the night is through.

Asriel crawls up onto the huge mattress, making it rock with his weight. You roll up onto hands and knees with an effort, watching, more or less vibrating with impatience as he makes himself a pillow throne and eases himself down upon it, stretched out on his back with his head and shoulders up. He looks at you like a benevolent king and beckons all lazy and tender. You crawl to him and he hitches you up onto his lap, kneeling.

“Come on, baby,” he says, sweet in the way that only Asriel Dreemurr can do sweet, love with a vein of awful only just deep enough to lend some flavor anymore. “I know you want more. I’m not so tired I won’t tell you not to help yourself.”

Even so he gets a hand behind your butt to scoop you up and forward, steadies his cock with the other.

“Did you know,” says Asriel, just holding you there, his cock not even touching you, “this world is made to give you and you alone everything you want. You’re all mine, so all I can give is all for you. Take it. Go on.”

The burning tip presses against you and your whole body jerks. You shiver, shiver, and snap your hips down as Asriel lets his hands fall away.

Beneath you his eyes flutter closed and his black lips split in a wide wide smile. Drool runs down your chin, your vision blurs. Asriel’s pulse suffuses you, so loud your ears ring a little. You make fists on the fur of his belly and don’t wait for your pussy to adjust to his cock wrenching you open yet again: You just throw restraint to the winds and fuck him, already.

You come once, light; you come again, harder. Humping Asriel’s cock as hard and fast as you can makes your tits roll in a way that is honestly really painful and unpleasant and that’s all that’s keeping you remotely sane through pleasure like a tidal event. If this sex is like a sea then you’re some sort of pagan god, to drain the cup and still be parched. Your clit still wants attention of a kind Asriel can’t really give but raking your pussy walls up and down Asriel’s massive shaft fills up your vision with sparks in patterns that match the vague pins and needles feeling in the deep end of your vagina.

A gentle hand comes up to cup your face as your hips automatically pull you through another rickety orgasm; you blink through swimming vision to see Asriel still smiling at you, soft as sunrise.

“You’re so good,” he moans. “Baby, you’re so good.”

You make a noise a little like a sob and squeeze him inside you with all your strength. Asriel’s body arcs up to meet yours and your whole body shakes, shakes, shakes. Heat roars through you, so much so that when he lets go in you it feels almost lukewarm. You sit still on Asriel’s cock with a blank head and soak up the feel of him pulsing inside you til it ends, dizzy and headachey with how hard you’ve come.

Asriel lets you sit for a little while and then gentles you down to lie flat on top of him. He strokes your hair over and over, and then after a while his hand stops at the nape of your neck, and then his claws part your hair to either side and pick apart the clasp of the collar. Sweat keeps it stuck to your throat for almost a minute before its own weight drops it onto Asriel’s chest.

“God,” he says, and his hand disappears, fumbling with probably the pitcher. You hear the _glug glug glug_ of him drinking, and then he lifts you halfway up so you can sip from it too. The headachey feeling and the dizziness subside a little. “Frisk? How was that?”

“Hhhhmmmmm _mmmmmm,”_ you say, and bury your face in his chest. No point in breaking the spell so soon.

“Okay, okay,” he says, and leans in to kiss your hair. “Sleep first, debrief tomorrow.”

That’s what you like to hear. For just a little longer—even just for the rest of the night—reality can be the lie; your grownup play-pretend can shield you just a little longer, until you’ve recovered enough to acknowledge its existence.

You still don’t have to think. You can just relax, and let the world outside remain a meaningless blur.

Curled up like a cat atop Asriel, your muscles aching dully from the effort of sex and your pussy and thighs dripping with come, you burrow close into your partner’s fur and will yourself to sleep.


End file.
